over and over again
by Winged-Magus
Summary: What would you do, if you did something so horrible. What would you think? Neville has something to tell us and it's not nice. * one shot, finished.*


Over and Over and Over again  
  
Disclaimer: WAHAHAHAH. I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. I wish I did. I am sorry to say that I don't have enough money to buy them all and create my own special world in which to play and sing and have a very nice time torturing Snape into being my best friend. But sadly, I don't have the money, and I don't think that J.K. Rowling would sell them to me. Wahahahah.  
  
  
  
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My name is Neville Longbottom. I'm not the brightest student, nor will I ever be. I forget even the simplest things, I'm constantly misplacing the important things, like my notes and the passwords to the gryffindor tower.  
  
I guess that's just who I am.  
  
My parents don't know I exist. I know what your thinking. No ones parents know they exist, but mine really truly don't. Presently they reside in St. Mungo's church for magical maladies. I'm sure if they realized it, they'd be happy there.  
  
Times are hard.  
  
There is a constant threat that my school, Hogwarts, will be taken over at any moment by you-know-who, but it doesn't really concern me.  
  
All I can do is try and remember the things I forgot, and try and forget the things I remember.  
  
It all happened on a relatively normal day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping pleasantly. The perfect day.  
  
As usual, I had forgotten to bring my textbook to Transfiguration class. How pitiful ones memory is, remembering something so horribly insignificant thing like that.  
  
Anyway, I was doing the usual, transplanting various body parts onto objects by mistake and such. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Professor Macgonigal had already scowled at me, but in a friendly way. Sometimes things are just hard to do. Nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
And then class was over and it was time for my least favorite thing in the world. Double potions with Professor Snape. A man that I despise and hate bitterly.  
  
He was always breathing down my neck and yelling at me in his subtle cold way, not bothering to even stop and think that it might have hurt my feelings. I remember it was cold, down there in the dungeon. Very, very cold.  
  
I was making a potion; the draught of the living dead I believe it was.  
  
I had all my ingredients laid out on my desk in order of use and had read the procedure on how to do the potion the day before so I expected that I would be ready. My cauldron was sitting on the fire, my dragon hide gloves beside my knife used to cut ingredients into correct sizes.  
  
I was ready, and yet I wasn't.  
  
I began to create my potion, slowly and steadily to make sure that I'd done it correctly. Thought now, looking at it I suppose I added too many handfuls of Wormswood. I stirred my cauldron with terrified ease, watching out of the corner of my eye for Snape to be sure that he wasn't going to just pop up from behind me and scare the daylight out of me.  
  
I was right though.  
  
There he was, standing an inch behind me, watching with a large sneer on his face.  
  
That's the way he is, Snape. You can always count on him to add a little pain and torment to your day.  
  
As usual, he craned over my potion, which by then had already turned green instead of the pink it was supposed to be.  
  
He sneered at me, eyes flashing dangerously and he says to me: " Longbottom, look what you've done. Why is your potion green when everyone else's potion is PINK?"  
  
And I sort of just stared at my potion, disaster tearing my confidence to death.  
  
And then again, he says to me just loud enough for the class to hear, the ENTIRE class: " Longbottom, you insolent boy, what stupid part of your nerotic brain told you to add so much wormwood? You've ruined another potion and are a WASTE of my time. Twenty points off Gryffindor."  
  
I don't know what happened inside me then.  
  
I just. Just flipped. Before Snape could say another word, I'd burst into tears.  
  
And then the BASTERD had the nerve, THE GAUL to laugh. He just laughed at me.  
  
Like I was some sort of animal that had done something amusing.  
  
I don't know how I managed to find it. I don't know why I did what I did. I don't think that he knew how or why either.  
  
Before he could laugh another dry syllable, I'd grabbed my knife from under my Dragon hide gloves and had buried it in the greasy git's stomach, still crying, maybe harder then before.  
  
I remember the look on his face.  
  
The LOOK.  
  
Pure terrified horror.  
  
I've never seen anything else quite like it.  
  
He sort of clutched at the handle At my hand, His black, cold eyes wide with pain, alive with horrible understanding. The blade must have been cold.  
  
I don't know why I smashed my fist into his face.  
  
Nor do I know why I stood over him, Watching him bleed.  
  
Watching him try and mouth all the words that had plagued his mind, Watching him cry. tears streaming down his face.  
  
Watching his eyes widen and fill with more pain, Feeling the cold floor beneath him.  
  
Watching him try desperately to try and stand up. Watching him succeed, rising, blood dripping down the front of his robes.  
  
Watching him stagger and fall against Harry Potter's desk, desperate.  
  
Watching him watch the class which was silent. Dead silent.  
  
Watching the Slytherin's scream and shout. Watching Harry jump from his desk to try and help.  
  
Watching Severus Snape allow himself to be helped by the one child he probably hated more then me.  
  
I don't remember much after that.  
  
I don't remember they're stunned faces, gaping at me. At my blood soaked hands.  
  
At my smiling face.  
  
I don't remember much after that. I don't remember Harry nearly carrying Snape from the room. Watched by the Gryffindors, some so stunned that they were in tears.  
  
I never got to see Madame Pomfry's face when Harry and Snape stagger into the hospital wing, Never saw the terror in her eyes as Snape struggled to live, to survive, the cold in his eyes.  
  
I never say him pull the knife from his stomach. Never heard him scream as he collapsed at last, Against Harry  
  
Sobbing and coughing up blood. Never saw him close his eyes.  
  
But Harry did.  
  
Harry saw it all.  
  
Watched me plunge the knife into my teacher; watched Snape fall, clawing at the weapon, at my hand. Watched me hit him. Harry was the only one that saw the look in Snape's eyes as he pulled the knife out.  
  
Harry was the only one that saw what happened next.  
  
But don't misunderstand me.  
  
No. Harry will reveal all those details I missed soon enough.  
  
Now I'm sitting in a chair, chains encircling my legs and arms. Listening to the Auror's tell my case.  
  
They're going to sentence me I guess.  
  
From what I can see. people are scared of me.  
  
Not the way they are of Snape, not cold rage. Terror. Something Snape couldn't give to anyone else but me.  
  
I'm watching Snape, sitting in a chair behind a desk. I can see the look in his eyes.  
  
See the pain and fear he won't soon forget.  
  
Dumbledore's the only one that helped me at least get a trial.  
  
I'm sixteen and I've already nearly murdered someone.  
  
In a way, I guess I have.  
  
He will never be the way he once was. Sneering. Sinister.  
  
He's scared now.  
  
This is what he feels. And .  
  
As I stare calmly into his eyes, I can see myself. I can see the scene in replaying in his mind.  
  
I can feel, him cringing against the thoughts of me stabbing him and then punching him.  
  
The pain of being saved by Harry Potter.  
  
The SHAME of letting a sixteen year old hurt him.  
  
The shame that it was me, Neville Longbottom.  
  
Failure at everything I've ever done.  
  
I failed to kill him.  
  
I ment to.  
  
I ment to kill him.  
  
And now all I can do is watch. Watch my failure playing over and over and over again in his eyes.  
  
In my head.  
  
I scare them.  
  
I probably scare you.  
  
Think about that, when you think to yourself. "I'm gonna kill him." Or " I'm gonna kill her."  
  
The mind does funny things I'm told.  
  
And from where I sit, I can see everything, every last detail of this room. I will remember every detail.  
  
I will see it again.  
  
Over and over and over and over... 


End file.
